


The One With the Sex Trick

by eon_s



Series: TOW all the FRIENDS fics [2]
Category: Friends (TV)
Genre: (to the tune of running in the 90s), Autofellatio, Bad Ideas, Bi-Curiosity, Cigarettes, Drinking, Friendship, Hand Jobs, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Injury, M/M, Male Friendship, Minor Injuries, Oral Sex, Season/Series 01, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Indulgent, Sexual Experimentation, Smoking, being bad at talking about feelings, floopy 90s hair, honestly i'm just writing this to treat myself, hopefully i caught all the typos but you never know, horny in the 90s, no but seriously eveyone is young and carefree and horny and irresponsible, oops feels came in chapter 2, second chapter will have, smoking during sex, so much pent up affection, this is silly, two boys in need of tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:08:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28924833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eon_s/pseuds/eon_s
Summary: Chandler lets slip he can do a 'sex trick' - namely that, in college, he was able to give himself a blowjob. Naturally, the gang has to have proof, but when a non-nude simulation of the act leads to hospitalization, chaos ensues. (And eventually, slash also ensues.)(Set sometime in Season 1 era, with some canon deviation)
Relationships: Chandler Bing/Joey Tribbiani
Series: TOW all the FRIENDS fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2121450
Comments: 10
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes in no particular order because the headcanons are minor but here:
> 
> Chandler is an active smoker in this fic
> 
> Joey has a smoking kink in this fic
> 
> Both boys have their S1 hair ofc
> 
> That is all

* * *

_At the Central Perk_

“Will you quit doing that?” Joey snaps, irritable. It’s not a great look on him, uncommon too, but he’s been in a mood for a while and now, all at once, the cat is out of the bag. Chandler raises his cigarette to his smirking lips, takes a deep drag to flare the cherry, and sighs in deeper, animal pleasure, grinning.

“Hell no. It’s better than sex.”

“It is not,” Joey says childishly. “And –

“Oh – sex doesn’t make your internal organs die!” Phoebe interjects, nodding at Joey as if waiting for a ‘thanks for backing me up there, pal.’

“Well, maybe not the boring vanilla sex you’re used to,” Chandler quips back. “I happen to have dated a girl whose appendix literally burst while I was in bed with her.”

“Oh my God, was she okay?” Rachel gasps – visibly horrified by the prospect.

“Y-yes.”

As it happens, the quip is less funny when he remembers the coitus interruptus and the panic and the screaming (his more than hers) and the hours spent in a hospital waiting room having to keep his jacket draped over his lap to hide the fear boner which had understudied and stepped in for his regular boner the minute her insides disintegrated.

Joey frowns at him and Chandler can practically see the gears turning in his head.

“Could she still…?”

Chandler cuts him off, frazzled that the joke has turned into an interrogation of his less than stellar sex life. “Not – not that same day – but generally, yes.”

“With you?” Ross presses. Chandler blinks, furrowing his brow.

“Look, this isn’t about me. This is about whatever’s wrong with Joey – don’t give me that look, we all know you’re being weird about it! And don’t tell me it’s that you think smoking is gross because I distinctly remember you telling me about how whatshername used to blow those smoke rings and it used to turn you… on. Oh my God.”

Chandler’s face goes from disbelief to delight in about two seconds flat.

“Is _that_ what this is? Is it a sex thing?”

“It’s not a sex thing!” Joey insists, but he’s visibly starting to blush, and Chandler can’t help but giggle like a schoolgirl over it. The gang joins in immediately.

“Joey’s got a sex thing – Joey’s got a sex thing!” Monica sing-songs, cackling.

“Shut up, Mon.”

“Nuh-uh. This is the most fun I’ve had in a week.”

“Come on, if it was any one of us, could you honestly say you wouldn’t tease back?” Ross adds, coming to his sister’s defense, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Joey grumbles something and averts his eyes. Chandler just shakes his head, still chuckling.

“Oh boy, you thought the smoke rings were cool,” he rambles, giddy, high on the attention, “you’d go nuts hearing about the smoking bluh –”

He catches himself, but not in time. Joey’s head shoots up, eyes staring into his soul.

“The what?”

“The…” he panics, “the Smothers Brothers.”

“The Smothers Brothers,” Ross snorts, raising an eyebrow. “Really? That’s where you were going with that?”

“Yep.”

“Oh, okay, um – why?”

“They… liked smoking? It… made them look very cool.”

“Right, sure, um – you said _‘smoking_ _bluh,’_ though,” Monica needles, smiling like a shark smelling blood. Chandler flounders.

“Right. Smo-smoking Smothers bluthers. The – uh – the older one had a speech impediment.”

Joey crosses his arms across his chest and the gang wait a beat, unimpressed.

“Not buying it, huh?” Chandler smiles weakly. “Okay. Well. Uh. The smoking blowjob.”

“Smoking blowjob? What – what smoking blowjob?” Rachel asks, startled.

“Who’s got the cigarette?” Phoebe adds. Heads turn to face her.

“I mean, the guy, obviously,” Monica retorts. She looks to Chandler for confirmation, but he just stares at the smoke smouldering up from where it sits, incriminating, in his saucer.

“The – the girl?” Ross chokes out.

“Doesn’t have to be a girl,” Phoebe muses. “Doesn’t even really need to be in a mouth.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you – they stick it in the urethra and the man becomes a glorified cigarette holder. It’s very decorative,” Chandler replies, and then shudders collectively with the group at the mental image. “Oh, God, past me, why would you say that?”

“No – seriously – what _is this about?_ Is it just a blowjob where – what, the girl – person – is smoking?” Ross asks, leaning forward in his chair. He’s got an academic curiosity in his eye now, damn him.

“Well – well yeah, pretty much. She puts the smoke in her mouth and then she puts _you_ in her mouth and then… yeah. Smoking blowjob.”

Chandler suddenly feels like a little kid that’s been caught writing a dirty word on his school desk. He stares down at his cuticles, embarrassed.

“How does her head not explode?” Joey asks, and it’s clear from his expression that he’s stuck at a crossroads between horny and horrified.

“She breathes the smoke out through her nose like a –” Chandler’s voice shrinks as his courage deflates, “likeadragon.”

“Wow.”

There are a _few_ wows and even one ‘neat’ as the group processes this onslaught of information.

“So did you learn how to give them in college or –”

Everyone, predictably, laughs.

“Give – give? Why give? Why can’t you assume – just once – that I _received_ a little something, huh?” Chandler recoils, instantly defensive. Rachel smiles and pats his arm fondly.

“It’s not that we don’t think you could convince someone to give you a blowjob. Just not a _cool_ blowjob.”

“Yeah, not one that has dragons in it,” Phoebe nods. “Oh – is it like eels?”

Chandler stares at her, uncomprehending.

“Is – is what like eels?”

“The penis. At the end. You know how you can go to those little European grocery stores and they sell those smoked eels – which – by the way, wow, talk about a patriarchal murder complex. Killing an animal just to dry it so it looks like a phallic symbol – yuck!”

“I don’t – I don’t think that’s the only reason they do it,” Ross ventures faintly. “Mon? Food thing – balls in your court on this one.”

“It doesn’t _smoke_ your penis. It’s only in there for like 3 minutes or so. It’s fine. Lie naked beside a fireplace and you’ll probably do more damage to yourself,” Chandler clarifies.

“So you _have_ done it before!” Rachel exclaims.

“Laid naked in front of a fireplace?”

“No! Had a lady dragon turn your penis into an eel,” Ross retorts, causing everyone to crack up.

“What’s it feel like?” Monica asks. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“Not really – I mean – it’s warm. Obviously. It’s… it’s weird,” Chandler fidgets uncomfortably. “It’s hot, you know – the looking down and the seeing the smoke kind of… rising. The whole dragon thing. Anyway.”

“Wait, now I’m confused,” Rachel interjects. “A minute ago, I actually believed maybe you did find a really lonely dragon to eel your penis. Now you make it sound like you’re just inventing things again. ‘The looking down.’ ‘The seeing.’ I’ve seen ten-year-old’s lie better than you.”

“Not about this, I hope,” Chandler laughs nervously. The joke falls flat, coming out more gross than funny. “And I’m not! _And_ can we _please_ not call it ‘eeling the penis’ again? It’s guaranteed to _ruin_ my next trip to the aquarium.”

“Chandler,” Phoebe says suddenly, with surprising gravitas. “Did you… eel your own penis?”

Chandler tries to take a drag of his cigarette and only succeeds in lifting the wrong end to his mouth and singeing his lip. He yelps and drops it into his coffee. Apparently, that’s enough proof for his interrogators.

“Wait – wait – man,” Joey’s looking at him like he’s Jesus or something, “you can do that? You can suck your own…?”

“Eel?” Ross finishes.

Chandler hesitates, searching the faces in front of him for any trace of mockery. He finds only awe and respect.

“Yeah,” he admits, beaming and ducking his head proudly as Ross tosses him a thumbs up.

“That’s amazing. I always thought people like you were a myth,” Phoebe says brightly. “Or in the circus.”

“I mean, I haven’t done it since college,” Chandler adds, and Ross’s eyes go wide.

“You were sucking your own dick in college?”

“Yeah? I… look, I was alone a lot and I had a lot of free time on my hands.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Rachel chuckles, shaking her head in disbelief.

“It’s not fair that guys can do that,” Monica remarks, pouting. “Yet another thing men can do that they take for granted.”

“Most men can’t do that,” Ross interrupts hastily, looking to Joey for support, who nods, never taking his eyes off Chandler, mouth agape with overwhelming respect.

“And the ones who can don’t take it for granted,” Chandler adds.

“Yeah, Chandler’s just a bendy weirdo,” Phoebe nods, no malice in her voice.

The conversation shifts after that, turning to topics like work and parents and money. Honestly, all told, it’s probably for the best, Chandler decides, that his autofellatio is put in the same mental box as Joey’s smoking sex thing. It’s just not as hot when it’s one of the guys with a kinky story.

Or at least that’s what he tells himself.

All his certainty about _everything_ goes out the window a few days later – nights later – whatever. He and the gang are coming home from a house party where there was a little too much fun had by all. As they watch Monica try for the third time to get her key in the lock, Joey looks at him, squinting, all quizzical, and says “you ever sucked your own dick _without_ a cigarette in play or…?”

Chandler jumps about a foot off the ground and whips his head around so fast he hears his neck crack.

“Want to say that a little louder, Joe? I don’t think you’ve really taken full advantage of the acoustics of this hallway.”

“Look, come on, man, it’s not a big deal. Don’t make it weird.”

The key _finally_ turns and the door swings inwards. The group stumble in behind it, knocking into each other as they pass the threshold.

“Okay, first of all, how dare you. It is most definitely a _big deal_ and I’ll fight anyone who says different,” Chandler retorts, and the easy humour of a penis size joke cuts through some of the tension. “Also, it is kind of weird. Why do you care about what I did with my dick in college?”

“I don’t, really,” Joey shrugs. “Just curious if you could tell me how you learned how to do it.”

“Why? You – you want to learn how to – _you_ want to learn how to?”

“Why not?”

“Learn what?” Phoebe asks, falling into step beside them.

“I want Chandler to teach me the eel thing,” Joey says before Chandler can find a way to humanely silence him.

“Oh, that makes sense,” Phoebe nods.

“How does that make sense?” Chandler asks, “Joey would probably have to physically move women away from his lap just to attempt it.”

Joey laughs at that, grinning dopily.

“Yeah,” he beams, then shakes his head. “No – but seriously. Ross – back me up here.”

“What am I backing up?” Ross asks, closing the freezer with his elbow and stuffing an ice cream sandwich in his mouth.

“What if one day I wake up and – and there’s no women?”

“Like… on earth? Or are we just suffering some kind of depopulation of New York State…?”

“I mean – the eel thing.”

“The penis eel?”

“Please don’t bring that phrase back into circulation –” Chandler says, but nobody listens.

“Look, all I’m saying is if it were me that knew, you’d all be begging me to teach you. And I would, because I’m a good friend and that’s what friendship’s about.”

“Friendship,” Chandler begins, and his voice cracks on the ‘ship’. He clears his throat and tries again, “Friendship is about teaching your friend how to fellate himself?”

“I dunno about that,” Joey shrugs, “but teachin’ him to suck his own dick – yeah, that’d fall under the umbrella of helping a guy out. It’s that old fish thing.”

Chandler looks pleadingly to Ross, who simply raises his eyebrows, evidentially enjoying the absurd little tableau playing out before him.

“Eels, then fish. We’re half way to being a chowder.”

“You know – teach a man to fish, then he fishes for the rest of his life. Well – the dick is the fish, dude.”

Chandler shakes his head in bemused disbelief.

“Sure thing, _brother,”_ he deadpans, brow furrowed.

“Aw, you know he’s mad when he stresses the last word like that,” Phoebe teases fondly.

Joey remains undeterred. “Don’t you think it’s something Chandler should share with the group?”

“I thought he had,” Ross shrugs.

“No – the _knowledge,_ man. Don’t you want to learn how?”

“I uh…” Ross coughs inelegantly around a mouthful of cookie. “I don’t think that’s really something you learn. It’s like being double jointed.”

“You can learn that,” Phoebe interjects. Ross opens his mouth as if to reply, then just shakes his head.

“I just don’t think it’s fair Chandler knows and isn’t sharing,” Joey maintains.

“What isn’t Chandler sharing?” Rachel makes her way back from the bathroom, makeup touched up and hair immaculate. Phoebe looks her over, curiously.

“Honey, we just got in.”

“So?”

“You’re makin’ the rest of us look like slobs,” Joey laughs.

“Well, we all have our burdens to bear. What’s Chandler not sharing?” Rachel repeats.

“His dragon penis trick,” Phoebe replies. “The guys want to learn how to do it and he won’t share his secrets.”

“There’s no secret! Either you can or you can’t – it’s a matter of… of physics, mostly,” Chandler protests.

“Well, I for one want to know how it’s done,” Rachel declares. Chandler blanches and shakes his head.

“Why do _you_ want to know?”

“Why not? You’re the one bragging about all your crazy sex tricks. Put up or shut up,” she grins. Phoebe nods, practically skipping over to the couch where she bounces in place, clapping her hands in delight.

“Yeah, come on! Let’s see it.”

“I really don’t think that’s a good –”

“Oh, come on, don’t be a chicken,” Ross pushes and the next thing Chandler knows, his alcohol-clumsy fingers and struggling to open his belt as his friends roar with laughter, cheering him on. He feels lightheaded – giddy. Suddenly being this popular is giving him some kind of adrenaline rush.

“Okay, the next person who uses the monopoly board really needs to put the money back into the correct slots –” Monica calls, entering the main room with the boardgame box in her arms. She freezes at the sight of Chandler standing in front of the TV in his underwear.

“What are you doing?”

“Chandler’s gonna show us his weird penis trick!” Phoebe replies, delighted.

“Keep your underwear on, though. We need proof of concept only, here,” Ross adds. Chandler gives him a withering look.

“I was _gonna,”_ he snaps, though inwardly he’s glad of the reminder to curb his impulsivity. He’s so socially pent-up that suddenly being given free reign like this is a recipe for crossed boundaries and disaster.

“Okay, I’m curious,” Monica admits. “Do you do it standing up?”

“No,” Chandler answers as he gets to his knees, then sits. He looks down at his own lap, testing the structural integrity of his boxers at keeping everything where it needs to be.

“Maybe I should face sideways while I do this. Can I have a cushion?”

“Mon?” Ross asks, already grabbing one from behind him on the couch. She winces but nods her ascent. Immediately, Ross tosses it like a football and, predictably, Chandler fumbles.

“So, I feel like I should preface all this by saying I haven’t done this in long enough that I may not get it on the first try.”

With some difficulty, Chandler raises his legs off the floor and attempts to pretzel them backwards. He makes better progress than he honestly expects to, but it is still about 12 inches short of his goal.

“There you go,” he says, wheezing out a breath as he uncurls.

“No way you’re _that long,_ come on! Do it again.”

“Fine – I’ll let that grossly inaccurate comment about the size of my genitals slide this time.”

Chandler shuffles around on the floor, attempting to get comfortable.

“Maybe it’d be easier if you did it against a wall?” Rachel asks, which prompts a few snickers. Chandler is too drunk to think of a comeback – a rarity for him – and so he settles for trying again. This time, he gets his hips a few inches closer, though his back gives a twinge of protest.

“Almost – look can someone push on my legs?”

“You sure you won’t hurt yourself?” Monica asks, but Chandler just nods insistently.

“Yeah, I can take it, come on. I’m nearly there.”

Rachel snorts as she gets up from the couch.

“Yeah yeah, it sounded less dirty in my head,” Chandler admits. “Are you going to help me? I’m cutting off my air supply doing this.”

“Sure,” Rachel says, pressing her small hand to the hot underside of his thigh – something that shouldn’t be sexy but totally is because damn it, he’s lonely.

“Three, two, one,” she counts down, and then presses with surprising strength for a slender woman.

Chandler isn’t sure what comes first – the sound of the 'pop!' in his back or his yelp of pain. Rachel immediately jumps back, startled, asking if he’s okay, and all he can do is roll onto his side, remain in the fetal position, and weep.

“Oh my god,” Rachel exclaims in horror, “Oh my god, I broke Chandler!”

“Let me see!” Phoebe insists, flying over in a whirlwind of loose fabric and dangly jewelry. She moves her hands around on Chandler’s back and he whimpers in agony.

“Oh, shoot, you really threw your back out bad.”

“Is it as bad as when I hurt mine at Nana’s funeral?” Ross asks sympathetically, wincing at the memory.

“I don’t know – it feels worse. I don’t think he’ll be able to stand up without help.”

“I don’t wanna go to the hospital in my underpants,” Chandler babbles incoherently. “Joe – you gotta – help –”

“I’ve got you, buddy,” Joey replies, at his side in an instant, reaching for his discarded slacks. “Hey, somebody call a cab.”

“Forget a cab,” Monica fires back, already grabbing the phone, “I’m calling an ambulance.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought writing this would get it out of my system but all it makes me want to do is write more of these too. So... yeah that may be happening. In the mean time, have an awkward-intimate-intense-clumsy little interlude.

* * *

“He’s going to be alright,” the emergency room doctor – a middle-aged woman with her hair in a tight, no-nonsense bun – says, and the gang lets out a collective sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank god,” Rachel groans, leaning her head on Ross’s shoulder. “I feel so bad about this.”

“It wasn’t your fault – I mean, Chandler said he was okay to do it,” Monica reassures her, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

“Yeah, about that,” the doctor interrupts, “what was he doing, anyway, when he threw his back out? He wouldn’t say – not even to me. It made treating him… difficult.”

“Oh, uh, handstand!” Monica says, and the gang look around at one another and nod in agreement.

“Yeah, he used to – uh – do a lot of them in college,” Ross adds. “We didn’t believe him, so he said he’d show us.”

The doctor nods, frowning.

“Well, let this be a lesson to you. Just because you were flexible enough to do something in college doesn’t mean it’s safe to do now – especially not if you’ve been drinking. This kind of emergency is totally preventable. You young people – you’re always risk takers.”

“Sorry,” Joey says, flashing his most apologetic smile. The doctor blushes a bit and looks back at her clipboard.

“Yes, well. Don’t do it again.”

She turns and hurries away before he can throw anymore charm at her.

Immediately in her wake, a nurse appears pushing Chandler in a wheelchair. He waves at the group as he rounds the corner, or tries to, wincing as he raises his arm.

“Congratulations, it’s a boy,” Chandler announces. “Where’s my cigar?”

“Chandler!”

Everyone rushes to greet him, patting him on the shoulders and ruffling his hair, which, despite his protests, he thrives on deep down.

“Yeah, yeah, break it up,” he laughs, voice shallow and a bit strained. “My god, I feel like shit.”

“Come on, we’ll get you to the cab –”

“Th-the cab?” Chandler looks at Phoebe with dawning horror. “Look, I’d be polite, here, but I don’t think my spine can take it.”

“We called a cab, dummy,” Monica says affectionately. “You, Ross, and Joey will take that one – that way if you need to lean on someone they’re strong enough to support you. The rest of us will go home with Pheebs.”

“Okay,” Chandler says, exhaustion robbing him of any quick one-liners. He feels gross – clammy and antiseptic in the way hospitals make you feel after you’ve sat around in them too long.

The wheelchair is property of the hospital, and when they get to the curb, Chandler has to – slowly – rise to his feet and hobble to the cab door, clinging to Joey for support while Ross holds it open for him.

“Thanks – see you guys,” he says, with another pained spasm of a wave.

“Get home safe!”

“Goodnight!”

“Don’t let the eels bite,” Phoebe adds, and the girls burst out giggling. Chandler can’t move well enough to flip them off, so he settles for making a face at them.

The ride home is really uncomfortable. Chandler’s back isn’t permanently damaged but it’s still incredibly tender in the moment, and every little swerve and jostle makes him have to bite back a yell of pain. Ross and Joey each take turns supporting him as they inch their way up the stairs to Chandler’s apartment, one miserable step at a time.

“Hey, thanks man,” Chandler manages, breathless from the pain. Ross just nods.

“The next time I slip a disk trying to get my penis in my mouth, I’ll give you a call and you can help _me_ get home from the ER,” he laughs, and then leaves. Joey adjusts his grip on Chandler and turns slightly so they can move sideways through the open door.

“Come on, man. That’s it – hold onto the counter and I’ll get your coat, ok?”

Chandler nods, allowing himself the moment of pure bliss that comes with not having to move. Joey eases his arms out of his sleeves gently, first one, then another, and steers him towards the couch, but Chandler shakes his head.

“Shower,” he says, “then bed. If I sit on that couch I’m never getting up again.”

The bathroom is crowded with two grown men in it, but they do their best. Joey gets the water running, then looks over at his injured friend, slumped against the sink.

“You okay to do this by yourself?”

“Well, I’m not letting you do it.”

It’s not really the right answer and they both know it, but Joey lets it slide. Chandler hesitates, hands barely reaching up to undo his top button.

“Could you just –”

Without hesitation, Joey unbuttons the entire dress shirt, untucks it, and opens Chandler’s belt with detached professionalism. The whole procedure takes about fifteen seconds.

“Wow,” is all Chandler can think to reply.

“You forget,” Joey grins, “I am a doctor.”

This causes them both to start laughing, which is painful to Chandler, but still very welcome. He shoos Joey out of the bathroom and carefully shucks his clothes before gingerly stepping into the tub.

The warm water on his back is heavenly. The water pressure in their building isn’t the best, but the uneven spray still drives some of the ache away. He leans into it, feeling it run up his spine until the pulses are teasing the base of his skull. His scalp is sensitive there and it’s almost too much to take. His cock rises a little with interest and he shivers, angling his head away again and glaring down at himself.

“Not now, boy. Down.”

He’s no idiot – his back is way too sore for him to be able to jerk off tonight. Anyway, his penis has caused him a lot of trouble tonight.

He leans up against the cool tile at the far end of the shower until the chill kills his erection, then yells for Joey to come in and shut the water off. Joey does a decent job of not opening his eyes as he passes in a towel, and then stepping aside to give Chandler room to get out. The hot water limbered Chandler up enough that he’s able to step out of the tub on his own and even go a few steps before the pain sets in again.

“Okay, bed,” Chandler declares.

“You want some sweats or something, man?”

Chandler ‘mm-hmms’ his agreement and Joey finds him a cleanish-looking pair of sweatpants, pooled on the bedroom floor. He braces Chandler’s upper arm as he inelegantly steps into them and pulls them up, and once they’re on and his modesty is secured, Joey takes the towel and flings it over the door to dry out. He helps ease Chandler down onto the mattress, trying to move the unmade bedsheets around so they don’t bunch under his back.

“You need anything? Water, extra pillows…?”

“Uh, water’d be good. I have pain pills in my jacket it you want to bring those, too.”

“You got it.”

“Oh, and my cigarettes. Lighter should be in the _other_ jacket pocket.”

“Sure.”

Waiting for Joey to return with his spoils, Chandler looks up at the ceiling, trying to gently stretch the muscles in his neck. The adrenaline is gone now and all that is left is a full-body discomfort that makes him eternally grateful for the meds they gave him in the ER. He feels like he’s been put through a meat grinder and he says so when Joey appears again, hands full, a water glass held upright against his chest with the meat of his forearm.

“Let me just drop these a second,” Joey says, letting the cigarettes, pills, and lighter fall. As soon as he’s able, he grabs the water glass and puts it on the nightstand. “Okay. What do you want first, pills or smokes?”

“Pills please.”

Joey passes Chandler the bottle and, seeing him struggle to open it with his arms so stiff, he takes it back, unscrews it in one, and shakes out two caplets.

“Cheers,” Chandler manages with a wince, tossing them back and then pointing to the water, which Joey lifts, helpfully, to his lips. He gets the whole mess down his throat and groans so loudly that he starts laughing, each laugh prompting their own tiny noises of pain.

“We’re old, Tribbiani.”

“Speak for yourself!”

“We are! I can’t believe I threw my back out doing… that.”

Joey snorts and then laughs, shaking his head.

“Yeah, it is pretty funny.”

“You’re never gonna let me live it down, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

Chandler groans again.

“Well, fuck me. Honestly, I can’t blame you. It’s not like I’d pass up the chance to tease anyone else over something like this. Can you stick a cigarette in my mouth?”

Joey does, ever the good buddy. He flicks the lighter, coaxing out a flame, and holds it carefully, warming the tip of the cancer stick until it sparks and flares to life. Clamping the cig between his teeth, Chandler inhales, filling his lungs with hot, tarry goodness. His eyes roll back in his head and he shivers. Beside him, Joey looks away, running his tongue over his suddenly dry lips.

“I… uh… I think you might need to refill this,” he says, shaking the lighter for emphasis. Chandler looked from Joey’s sheepish expression to the lit end of his cigarette and back again.

“That really does it for you, huh?” he says, or tries to say, with it still in his mouth. Seeing him struggling, Joey reaches out and takes the cigarette away, letting Chandler have one more big drag before stubbing it out in his bedside ashtray. Wanting to show off a bit with minimal effort, Chandler lets the mouthful of smoke settle in his mouth before exhaling a bulbous cloud of vapour, waiting a minute, then re-inhaling. He hadn’t attempted to ghost inhale lying flat on his back before and the result proves less attractive than he’d hoped it would be, and most of his plume of smoke hits him in the face rather than slides gracefully back into the chamber of his mouth. Still, it does the job – almost too well. Joey looks a little betrayed, honestly.

“That really does… wow. You’re going to hit me aren’t you,” Chandler says with a small smile on his lips. It’s weird and tender and he doesn’t really know what it means. Joey gives him a similar smile and shakes his head.

“Nah,” he admits, hair falling across his forehead as he shrugs in a way that’s almost… coy. “I can’t hit an injured guy.”

“How magnanimous of you.”

“Is there anything else you want or…? I was gonna go order some pizza…”

“Well, other than the blowjob that wasn’t, no, I’m satisfied,” Chandler jokes. It doesn’t come out as funny as he hopes it will – there’s too much tension because of the smoking thing. Joey runs a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face, casting his eye nervously around the room.

“You… you want me to lend you a magazine or something?”

“Can’t. My arms are out of commission and I think if I try to move my pelvis I’ll break something.”

Fuck, what’s with the air? It’s gone all thick and hot and weird and Chandler keeps waiting for the panic to set in but all he feels is the carefree chemical bliss of a synthetic pharmaceutical high.

“Oh,” Joey manages at last. Chandler laughs – well, giggles. The meds are kicking in and he feels… pretty great, honestly. Great. Horny. Horny and great.

“I swear I saw a porno like this once. ‘Oh, Miss, I crippled myself in a freak skiing accident. Won’t you please lend a hand?’ Sounds like the kind of thing you would act in – maybe as a chair lift operator or –”

“You want a hand?”

 _Because here’s a hand,_ Chandler finishes mentally, his whole world suddenly centered around his knee, which Joey’s now grabbing through the bedsheet.

“I – uh – what?” he squeaks, his voice rising in octave and volume as Joey slowly inches his hand up, up, up, until –

“Yikes!” Chandler yelps. _Yikes? Why yikes? Of literally any word you could pick you choose the one that makes you sound like an idiot._

“Yikes?”

“I… um… ticklish.”

Joey doesn’t move.

“Do you want me to –”

_Shit. Ball's in your court, Bing. Which way are you gonna play this?_

“You can – you _can._ If – if you – if… yeah. If you want.”

Fuck. Why is it so easy to say that? And why does he want it? And why is Joey going along with it? There are so many questions and Chandler doesn’t feel equipped to cope with any of them, not when Joey’s pulling the sheet down and – _shit_ – cupping him through his sweats.

“Do you – uh,” Chandler swallows, mouth dry and throat tightening around each word, “do you want to sit down?”

Wordlessly, Joey sits. He swallows too, lips pursed together, throat working as his eyes bore holes in his hand and what it’s rubbing.

“Want me to smoke?”

The words hang in the air and Joey freezes, his thumb catching on the flared edge of Chandler’s cockhead, straining through the jersey. He doesn’t look up.

_Shit. Shitshitshitfuck you just had to say something, didn’t you? You just had to ruin it you stupid, big-mouthed idiot._

Chandler stops self-admonishing when, to his surprise, Joey reaches for the discarded pack of cigarettes with his free hand and passes them to Chandler. He _still_ won’t look up, but he doesn’t have to for Chandler to see that he’s _gone._ The lighter next – pressed into Chandler’s open palm with clumsy fingers. Joey’s hand is shaking. _Both of their hands_ are shaking.

Chandler has never felt so nervous lighting a cigarette before in his life. He flicks the lighter, which Joey had previously, rightly, noted was low on fuel, struggling to spark it. It hurts Chandler’s back to lift the lit cig to his mouth and, before he can try to force it, he finds it missing, plucked from his grip and carefully pressed against the closed line of his lips.

Somehow, that’s more intimate than the hand on his dick.

Joey makes the mistake of looking up then, and the shared intensity of the two of them, fixed on each other, shaking, makes Chandler let out an embarrassing, high-pitched whining noise he immediately cuts off, but not before he sees it make Joey’s eyes narrow and his nostrils flare a bit. He presses the cigarette’s unlit end to Chandler’s lips again, insistently, and as if to spur his friend into action, gives Chandler’s cock a squeeze.

Chandler nearly inhales the fucking cigarette. As it is, he mangles it quite a bit as he struggles to get it into position, but once he can, he takes a deep, steadying drag, and tries to comfort himself in the wake of his present circumstance. Either the pills are wearing off – doubtful – or he’s crossing a new threshold of anxiety – more likely.

Wordlessly, Joey hesitates, fingers on his waistband, and Chandler chances another downwards glance. Oh God. The downside – upside – some-kind-of-side – of freeballing in sweats is enough to make him moan softly. He’s got a fucking wet spot – the size of your average fingernail – moistening the spot where his cockhead is straining against the soft grey fabric. Joey notices it around the same time he does, rubbing his thumb over it which, holy shit, should not be anywhere near as hot as it is.

They still are at a loss for words – both of them. Joey tugs at the waistband in an unmistakeable gesture and Chandler gives a shaky nod, grimacing as lifting his hips puts a strain on his back. His cock shares none of his hesitancy, bobbing up immediately and smacking Joey’s hand in a way that, if Chandler were in a laughing mood, would have set him off for sure. He’s not though. He’s more serious than he’s been in a long time – there’s nowhere to hide from this and, increasingly, it’s dawning on him what that means. He’s hard for his _best friend. **Hard.**_ This is the kind of situation Chandler has been terrified of being in – this exact scenario – for years – probably since he first learned about the dirty little secret that broke up his parents. He’s avoided it at every turn – denied, denied, denied to anyone who’d listen that he’d ever, even slightly, be into this.

And what? Give him a low does of pain medication and that all goes out the window?

It’s a scary thought. It’s a sobering though. That said, it’s still a thought, and the time for thinking isn’t really when you’ve got an objectively good-looking, willing, and able person leaning over your lap to –

Chandler groans around the cigarette in his mouth. Joey’s just spit on the head of his dick and, intellectually, yeah, that’s kind of gross because saliva is kind of gross and Chandler’s not sure Joey brushed his teeth since before they went to the party – then hospital – and he should be more bothered by it. He’s not like a spit fetishist or whatever, if that’s a thing. Still, there’s something so fucking good-dirty in the way he feels the heat of it roll down the side of his shaft before Joey’s hand closes tight around him, using the spit to help it glide a little.

“Oh…” Chandler whines, eyes falling shut. “Mmm…”

It’s so good. How can a simple handjob be this good? _Well,_ the lone braincell still manning the thinking part of Chandler’s brain reflects, _he’s a guy. We have more practice at this._

His grip is both gentle and firm – Chandler makes a noise almost like a whinny when Joey’s fingers trace around his balls, slipping behind them to rub at the sensitive spot back there, which definitely shouldn’t make him feel as good as it does, but it does and it’s all he can do to keep his cigarette in his mouth as he keens.

“M’close,” he hisses, muffled, accidentally dropping hot ash down on himself, singeing his collar bone. In the moment, the added pain just makes his prick twitch. Joey reaches out and Chandler almost sobs at the sudden loss of friction on his cock.

“Gimme that for a second,” Joey pleads hoarsely, and Chandler obeys. He’d do anything Joey asked him to if it would get him to start rubbing him again.

“Okay,” Joey says quietly, almost like he’s psyching himself up, before taking a drag, leaning over, and slipping the head of Chandler’s cock into his mouth. His free hand, sans cigarette, slides up Chandler’s side and his fingers find the third nipple which, honestly, isn’t as sensitive as the main two, but the act of someone reaching for a part of his body that Chandler’s self-conscious about, all while worshipfully suckling the head of his penis into a vortex of hot, smoky heat, is the strangest, sexiest mix of kindness and eroticism that he’s ever experienced, and it has his balls drawing, muscles tightening.

“Oh God, Joe, I’m coming – man – I’m com-!”

It hits hard and good, like a baseball bat to the head – its enough to knock Chandler out for a minute, body and mind overwhelmed.

“Holy shit,” he breathes when he can remember how talking works. Joey has stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray and is midway through spitting Chandler’s load into his wastebasket, which makes for a somewhat awkward ten seconds of silence. Joey coughs a bit and clears his throat, not accustomed to smoking generally, let alone with his mouth full of dick.

“A-anything else you need, buddy?”

Fuck. His voice is all messed up – low and hoarse and sandpaper rough. It has no business being that hot.

“Uh…”

Chandler swallows hard against the building tightness in his throat. He can see the ridge of Joey’s erection through his jeans.

“I can’t get you off,” he says, and there’s something like resigned sadness in Joey’s eyes that makes him hate himself.

“I get it, man. It’s fine – look, that wasn’t – you’re okay that happened, right?”

That was a can of worms Chandler didn’t want to get into – the post-orgasm haze was subduing him, making him want to escape into uncomplicated sleep.

“I… I’m not _not_ okay,” he said quietly. “You know I’ve got… issues. With. Stuff.”

Joey nodded. He looked moderately relieved, if still a bit sad.

“Yeah. Look – this doesn’t need to be a big deal – it’s just a helping hand between friends, okay?”

He says it almost nervously, like he’s equally afraid of what they unleashed together. Somewhere in the heat of the moment, they crossed a line. Chandler’s first guess would be when Joey put his mouth on his cock, but in honesty, he thought it might’ve been his fault – when he first started speaking and broke the silence. Or when Joey touched him so carefully, so affirmingly, as he pushed him over the edge.

“I meant – my back, you know. I can’t exactly… but if you took yourself out, I’d watch.”

It comes out in a rush and for a minute, Joey looks more startled than enthusiastic at Chandler’s sudden peace offering.

“Just – just lie down next to me if you want to,” he whispers, and he’s sure he’s an open book now because in addition to the satisfaction of a man about to get off, there’s some funny, warm, fond look in Joey’s eyes that’s the most terrifying and terrific thing Chandler’s ever seen. He holds his breath as Joey carefully lays back, trying not to shake the mattress too much. Joey unzips his jeans and exposes himself to Chandler’s scrutiny.

“No underwear, huh?” Chandler asks before he can stop himself. Joey just smiles in return. It's kind of crazy how non-abnormal it feels, just the two of them, trading glances in an strange but easy silence.


End file.
